Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. It's very sad. All credit for the characters goes to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. Not me. Damn.
Distribution: Are you kidding? I'd go insane with joy. Just tell me where, so I can watch and gloat.
Spoilers: Nothing specific. Spike's in love with Buffy. Know this.
Author's Notes: I have some difficulties writing Spike, but please, send feedback with love, or, y'know, disgust... whatever you like.
He carries the cigarettes everywhere with him now. Lighter too. He likes the feel of the lighter in his pocket. It feels dangerous. Feels like fire, licking at his insides. He removes it now. Flicks back the top. A little flame rises, and he brings it to the cigarette. Lifts it to his mouth. Breathes it in. Out. In. It used to be difficult, this unfamiliar rhythm, but he's used to it now.
When they fucked in that wrecked building, he breathed her in. Inhaled her hair, her smell, herself. He wanted her inside him. Breathed her in. Out. In. Gasped against her chest. Out. In. Out.
Out.
She left him after, but he was already addicted. The ecstasy of smell, taste-- senses lost, he breathed her in and she was everything to him. A drug. He has tasted flower people. He picks up his hand and gazes at it, watches it move, but it holds nothing for him now.
He hears things. On the radio, newsreports, lectures from the Bit. Cigarettes are bad. Give you cancer. Nicotine pull. Addiction.
Takes another drag. Breathes out. He yearns inside. Breathe it in. It does not soothe.
He wonders if he could stop smoking. Wonders what he is replacing with this habit. Quashes the thought. In. Out.
She comes. She yells. She hurts. He breathes her in, secretly, quietly, so she will not notice.
Out.
The cigarette is smoke. The vampire takes a deep, strong breath of clean air. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't help. What can stop this addiction?
Pulls out another cigarette. In. Out. In.
Distribution: Are you kidding? I'd go insane with joy. Just tell me where, so I can watch and gloat.
Spoilers: Nothing specific. Spike's in love with Buffy. Know this.
Author's Notes: I have some difficulties writing Spike, but please, send feedback with love, or, y'know, disgust... whatever you like.
He carries the cigarettes everywhere with him now. Lighter too. He likes the feel of the lighter in his pocket. It feels dangerous. Feels like fire, licking at his insides. He removes it now. Flicks back the top. A little flame rises, and he brings it to the cigarette. Lifts it to his mouth. Breathes it in. Out. In. It used to be difficult, this unfamiliar rhythm, but he's used to it now.
When they fucked in that wrecked building, he breathed her in. Inhaled her hair, her smell, herself. He wanted her inside him. Breathed her in. Out. In. Gasped against her chest. Out. In. Out.
Out.
She left him after, but he was already addicted. The ecstasy of smell, taste-- senses lost, he breathed her in and she was everything to him. A drug. He has tasted flower people. He picks up his hand and gazes at it, watches it move, but it holds nothing for him now.
He hears things. On the radio, newsreports, lectures from the Bit. Cigarettes are bad. Give you cancer. Nicotine pull. Addiction.
Takes another drag. Breathes out. He yearns inside. Breathe it in. It does not soothe.
He wonders if he could stop smoking. Wonders what he is replacing with this habit. Quashes the thought. In. Out.
She comes. She yells. She hurts. He breathes her in, secretly, quietly, so she will not notice.
Out.
The cigarette is smoke. The vampire takes a deep, strong breath of clean air. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't help. What can stop this addiction?
Pulls out another cigarette. In. Out. In.